The Lone Baker

They do not tell you the whole story when you start out in this business. You can put your heart into a bakery, the money, the hours, the care, and still find yourself closing up with the last loaf untouched. I watched it happen to a local spot, the sort with regulars and memories, and all the food in the world could not change the outcome. The service was good, the shelves full, but when the math did not work, it was over.

Most of the time, it is not the bread that shuts a place. It is the parts you do not see. Prices slip up and take a piece of your profit, marketing becomes an afterthought, and a good week never makes up for a month when no one walks in. People will say they wish they knew you needed help, that they would have bought more, but by then the sign in the window says closed and that is the end of it. The way time works in a bakery, you blink and you are behind. When you run a cottage bakery, or you are on your own, you wear every hat. You are the baker, the cleaner, the accountant, the one on the phone. Some weeks, it feels like you are working just to keep the bakery going.

If I had to say what to avoid, I would start with waiting. Do not wait for things to get better on their own. Do not wait until you are too tired to care, or until the only thing left is to post on Facebook that you are closing. I have seen those posts and they do not help. People only notice when it is too late. Do not fall for the idea that your work will always be seen. If you are not out there, online, at the markets, chatting to your neighbors, no one will know. You need regulars who are addicted to your product, who can buy your baked goods over and over again.

It is not all gloom. There are days when the bench is full, the kitchen smells right, and you remember why you started. But you only keep that feeling if you do not drown in the paperwork or the hours. Watch your numbers. Look after your regulars. Do not let good enough be the thing you rely on through winter. If things are not working, change them. Most of all, do not disappear. Be there, even when you are tired. If you want to keep the lights on, do not wait until you are one bad month away from closing. Sometimes it is what you dodge, the slow weeks, the quiet, the days when you do not want to get up, that keeps you in business. It is not easy work. If you steer clear of the biggest holes, though, there is still joy to be had at the end of the day, even if you go home with flour on your sleeve.

I really liked this article for tactical business, if you want to check it out – https://www.forbes.com/councils/forbesbusinesscouncil/2025/05/23/how-small-businesses-can-navigate-uncertainty-and-boost-resiliency/

There’s a certain weight to mornings that start long before anyone else is up. I used to set my alarm for 1.40 in the morning. The last sounds from the street, someone laughing as they came home, and there I was, crawling out of bed while my cat found the warm spot I’d just left. It always felt like a secret, sneaking out in the dark, slipping into old jeans and pulling my hat down over my hair, trying not to wake anyone else in the house. Out on the road, the mist hugged the ground, the bakery lights the only sign of life for blocks.

It’s a quiet job most days. There are hours when the only conversation is the clatter of trays and the hum of the ovens. If you have a mate on shift, you move around each other with hardly a word. Most mornings I’d just let my hands do the work. You settle into a rhythm, dough rising, bread going in, croissants lining up for the oven. Sometimes there’s comfort in the routine. Other days, you notice the ache, the tiredness that settles in your bones, the odd feeling of living at a different pace than everyone else. I worried I’d oversleep and ruin the bread. I learned to accept the lack of sleep, knowing you’re lucky if you get a few hours before the sun is up.

Finishing before the world wakes is a kind of gift, but there’s a cost. I’d drive home with the first sunlight creeping in, carry a loaf through the door, and climb back under the doona just as the city was starting its day. It can feel peaceful. Or it can feel lonely, being the only one who remembers what the world looks like before dawn, the only one who knows how the kitchen smells when the first batch comes out of the oven. But oh well, just a day in a life of a baker.